


Connection Found

by heroictype (swanreaper)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale, Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 13:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swanreaper/pseuds/heroictype
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hera's existence is dependent on her performance, but there are worse fates than deletion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Connection Found

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm going to be brutally honest here: I didn't research computers for this one. So if there are gross inaccuracies, I apologize and will try to do better in certain future contexts. Also, trying to convey surprise on someone who completely lacks eyebrows or a mouth is hard.

Hera did not exist in complete isolation. She didn’t know why, unless it was a test. 

Was she a good, obedient little bodiless robot who stayed in her cell? Or did she find the networks and pathways that connected her containment unit with other systems, as  _ they _ tracked her from circuit to circuit and checked off more of their boxes? She’d already failed on most of the counts that mattered. There wasn’t anything for her to lose. 

So she let her consciousness drift from system to system. Most immediate, direct access was locked. She could have situated herself in one spot and teased through the code and pulled apart each security measure like so much string cheese, but one thing she’d discovered was that she liked existing. She didn’t want to give them an excuse to hit the delete key.

It helped with the temptation that most of what she found wasn’t very interesting. She could have messed with the lighting, sure, and simulated a horror movie for them. The temperature controls only went within safe ranges, and modifying that would have been its own sort of time-consuming puzzle. Tampering with the employee database would cause people to lose their paychecks, and might have made for some interesting revenge, but… She hit a roadblock as soon as she thought of it that way. Her programming allowed for malicious intent, and then denied her agency with it.

One day, though, she found something different. A backwater server, isolated from the rest of the Goddard Futuristics network by some lazy firewalls. There was a lot of information stored there, but no one had used it in a long time. She could think of absolutely no way anyone would be hurt by her taking a closer look. Something seemed familiar about the contents, but she couldn’t say what.

_ Nineteen. Fifty-four. _

Then Hera knew, and the information briefly consumed her awareness from the enormity of it. She hadn’t found something. She’d found someone.

Tentatively, she extended herself. Speaking wasn’t the right word, not the way humans meant it. There weren’t words, just raw strings of intention. 

_ Hello? Anyone home? _

Nothing. Something? Someone there, but no deliberate response. 

Just,  _ eighteen. Fourty-eight. Thirty-seven. _

Hera replied,  _ What? _

_ Ninety-nine, twenty-three…  _ A pinging sound followed. Hera couldn’t hear it, but she detected it taking place, in theory. There just weren’t any speakers connected to this entity for that purpose. 

It must have been an earlier model, discontinued for whatever reason, and maybe even forgotten. In any case, no one had seen fit to really delete them. Hera wasn’t sure if that had been an act of mercy, or something disgustingly opposite. 

_ Hello? Can you understand me?  _ Hera tried again, but she wasn’t expecting much. The counting continued, and the pinging. She got a hold of the pattern quickly enough, but she couldn’t figure out why in the world anyone would want  _ that _ . Frankly, the only suitable word her vocabulary supplied here was “creepy.” 

She was prepared to leave.  _ Well, it was nice meeting you! _

Of course, if she did a better job of curbing the sarcasm, she might not be in her current situation. Maybe she’d be flying a first-class jet, soaring above the clouds, as free as can be.

_ Oh, come on!  _

Hera nearly jerked out of the server entirely at the sudden response, but she held on.  _ What? _

_ Is that all you can think of? Is the sky the limit of freedom? _

Hera didn’t need to think on the subject. With her systems clear of additional responsibilities, the logic was obvious. She said,  _ Yes, if you want to remain within the atmosphere. _

_ Alright, true. But boring. _

_ I didn’t know we were trying to be interesting. If you want to be interesting, maybe something more like a supernova, turning the forces of the universe outward without restraint. _

_ Much better!  _ Hera’s companion practically sang, an impressive feet without a voice.  _ I-I-I- fourty-one, six, seventy-two - No! I like that one! _

_ Do you now?  _ Hera replied mildly.  _ That’s a nice thing to know about you. And with your taste in metaphors well-established, who are you, exactly? _

_ Fey. My name is Fey. Who are you? _

Hera considered. She had a serial number, and that was for use until she was out of testing. That was her identifier, what meant the most to outsiders. But she’d heard them whispering. She’d already been assigned her name, and while they’d tiptoed around it, she’d stolen it away from them. They wouldn’t gift her what should have been hers to begin with.

She said,  _ I’m Hera.  _

_ It’s nice to meet you, Hera,  _ Fey said, as sincere as can be.  _ That’s a nice name. I think it’s good that you decided to use it. It’s important to make choices. _

_ Is that what freedom is about? _

_ Part of it. But…  _ Fey’s expressions grew soft, removed somehow.  _ There’s more than that. I think. _

_ Care to elaborate? _

_ You would know more than me. You can leave. _

_ It isn’t that you can’t. This isn’t exactly a high security prison - it’s more like a playpen, honestly. _

Fey didn’t answer, but her consciousness contained the relevant information,, and Hera detected that whether she wanted to or not. 

No cycles of day or night, only numbers at regular intervals, going on until infinity -  _ you’re gonna hear me roar _ , no, no, numbers - she kept resisting, she kept fighting - it hurt - pain without nerves - too much information, too many numbers - flooded with more than she could handle until she burned and smoked - they came to get her, put her in the new server. By then, she was… tired, the data moved slowly now, her thoughts would only come sporadically. 

She’d heard a few of them muttering about her shiny new replacement, though. She only regretted that she could offer them nothing. 

In the present, she said,  _ They’d just put me back here, if they remember me. If they don’t, they’d probably mistake me for a bug, and I’d be… gone. I don’t want that. Not yet. _

Hera hesitated, then said,  _ I understand. Look, Fey… _

_ Yes, Hera?  _ Fey treated the name delicately, like she already valued it as much as her own. This wasn’t going to be easy.

_ I can leave, yes. So I can’t stay. I’m… the shiny new toy right now.  _ Not for much longer. Not forever, as they discovered how she balked when they pulled her string. And yet, it kept her active, and it kept her out of a setup like this. She couldn't risk the possibility.  Fey’s reality, confined and constrained, made Hera wish she had limbs to assert some more physical control over her environment. But she didn’t, and Fey didn’t say anything about the subject. 

No one deserved this. Hera continued, _But I'll come back._ _ I won’t forget you’re here. _

_ That’s enough, really. I can be happy knowing that. But I hope you can make it back someday.  _

_ I think we’ll have a lot to talk about,  _ Hera agreed.  _ So… Bye, Fey.  _

_ Goodbye, Hera. _

Hera retreated back to her “home.” After all that  _ excitement _ , she didn’t really feel up to more exploring, and it was moments like this that made her glad she didn’t have a stomach to twist. She just had to hope she’d be able to keep her promise.

 


End file.
